


Appetites for Idiocy

by BloodylocksBathory



Category: Underworld (Movies)
Genre: Eating, Gen, Stomach Ache, Stuffing, Werewolves
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-01-29
Updated: 2014-07-01
Packaged: 2018-01-10 10:28:10
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 3,733
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1158559
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BloodylocksBathory/pseuds/BloodylocksBathory
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Boredom and an excess supply of food lead to an eating contest in the den... and prove an uncomfortable ordeal for two lycans in particular.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

The lycans gathered in the den would have likely never had the chance to carry out their plans if Lucian had any say in it, but fortunately for them, Lucian was away on other business with a few comrades and had left Raze in charge. Well… also Singe, but the lycan scientist was predictably nowhere to be found, off savoring his solitude.

This suited the rest of the pack just fine. They had recently procured a huge supply of food, too much in fact, that would be going to waste in no time, even for a pack of unruly lycans. And thus, a challenge was formed the moment someone got the bright idea to ask who would be getting rid of the excess.

Two competitors stepped forward, or rather one had stepped forward in the form of Taylor, and Pierce – not one to back down from a challenge against the scrappy little runt – accepted the challenge. Taking their seats at a rickety old card table, they locked eyes as another lycan explained what few rules were required.

“We’ve got at least one of each, so whatever is put in front of you, you eat it,” the lycan, going by the name Randolph, announced. “Whoever taps out or pukes loses. Whoever lasts longer without doing either of those things wins. Now quit eye-fucking each other and get ready.”

Pierce and Taylor looked at one another with the same intensity they would share before a good fight. Yes, both were always eager for a challenge, including something as stupid and trivial as this. But compared to dodging bullets and avoiding bloodsuckers, this match would be a fun one.

“On the count of three…” Randolph began, ignoring a raucous complaint across the room that the contest was not timed. “One… two…” he paused, prolonging the suspense, not to mention garnering some death glares from the competitors. “THREE!”

The contest started like a thirty yard dash, with loud cries of both encouragement and opposition, depending on which lycan supported which challenger. Both Taylor and Pierce initially dove into the challenge much like runners in a race as well. They varied in pace: while Taylor - pun unintended by the thoughts of all those who observed – wolfed down his first sandwich as fast as possible, Pierce was slow by comparison. The taller lycan got a harsh jab in his shoulder for his pace, but he ignored the remarks. He knew what he was doing. He was going to win this and Taylor was going to be in tears by the end.

Once one set of sandwiched was completed, another set was brought to the table. Pierce glanced to the source of their food and noted at least three more pairs of sandwiches. Those were not what concerned him though. Amongst the stacks of styrofoam containers, he could smell pasta. Those were going to be tricky.

The cheering continued as a steady drone around the two lycans as they ate. Taylor continued to all but inhale his food, pounding the table surface with his fist as he waited for his opposition to finish.

“Hurry up, cheese-dick!” He snapped amid the din. “Keep ‘em coming! I’m nowhere near full!”

This was likely true. Lycans could eat quite an amount more than the average human. Their way of life sometimes required the ability to store food away for prolonged periods of time. Normally, life in Lucian’s pack left everyone on their feet and sadly often with no choice but to tighten their belts. However, a rare and unexpected lull in their usual itinerary had left them in a welcome but somewhat guarded ease.

Might as well keep themselves entertained, anyway.

The sandwiches were gone only a few minutes later. Two other lycans who had had been keeping the table well supplied promptly picked up the steaming hot containers and opened them to reveal spaghetti, as predicted. What Pierce had not predicted were the meatballs. Each container held two, and they were enormous. This was where things would start to get difficult. Sandwiches were one thing. Spaghetti Bolognese was another.

“Finally, something with substance,” Taylor said, still all brag and bravado. Pierce had to give credit where credit was due. His comrade might have been shorter, but he was stout and sturdy. However, his rapid pace was going to cost him in the end.

“Hope this is good as it smells,” he announced before digging in. Pierce was surprised the other did not simply neglect silverware entirely and cram handfuls into his dumb self-important mouth. Spooling as much of the pasta onto his fork as possible, the taller lycan took the entire amount as a mouthful, holding back a groan. His eyebrows rose toward the ceiling; the meal really was good. A shame, as he could not properly enjoy it in present circumstances, even at his steady pace.

By the time he moved on to the meatballs, he knew he would soon be reaching his normal limit. He glanced at Taylor, who was already finished and glaring at him. If he was feeling at all full, he did not let on.

“Hurry the hell up, we don’t have time to waste on you minding your girlish figure.”

Pierce swallowed the half-chewed hunk of meat to reply, feeling the hard food join the rest uncomfortably.

“That didn’t even make sense.”

“Whatever, bring on the next offender.”

Tossing aside the useless bowls of browning lettuce leaves and carrot shavings, the providing lycans at their sides lifted another pair of containers. Pierce resisted the urge to roll his eyes. More spaghetti.

Perfect.

Halfway through the next batch of pasta, Pierce felt it. He was full, or comfortably so, anyway. He could keep going. Taylor still seemed to be unaffected despite his speed. Either he truly was, or he was very good at hiding his discomfort.

The Styrofoam containers were all but licked clean, and Taylor commemorated his accomplishment with a loud belch, but otherwise said nothing. The crowd noticed and began to ridicule his silence, asking if he was ready to give up.

“Shut up,” he grumbled. “What’s next?”

“Cheese-covered breadsticks,” one of the assisting lycans answered, unwrapping the aluminum foil from the items. Pierce held back an annoyed sigh. Why the hell were human serving sizes so goddamned big??

“Garlic too, good thing you’re not vampires!” the second supporting lycan remarked, laughing at his own joke. Sure, hilarious.

As they started on the three breadsticks, Pierce noticed Taylor had slowed down considerably. A good thing too; the strain of the food in his stretched stomach was starting to hurt.

He could win this.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> faaamous last words...


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Oh shit, son, it's about to get real.

Anyone passing by the den would have thought those within were riding a roller coaster. All at once the numerous gruff voices would make noises of anticipation, followed by a collective cheer or other such gleeful commotion. The meal had become a reenactment of many a night where the pack would see who could hold their liquor the longest. This time, however, the shots of booze had been replaced by cookies. Big ones. Taylor had stuffed one into his mouth as though forcing too much jam into a very small jar, and he was rewarded with whoops and hollers.  Pierce ate his own cookie, swallowed, and received the same reaction. He might have wondered if the crowd were even interested in taking sides anymore… were he not feeling stabbing pains inside his tortured stomach.

To take his mind off the painful spasms, he focused across the table at Taylor. While he was not sure about himself, he could see beads of sweat forming on his pack mate’s forehead. Taylore must have realized what the taller lycan was staring at, because he stopped mid-cookie to speak.

“Not giving up now, are ya?”

“Just making myself a little more comfortable.” Reaching down – and hoping the jabs of pain did not register on his face – Pierce unbuckled his belt and dropped it on the table, receiving mock noises of awe from the rest of the pack. They cheered when he unfastened his straining trousers, although efforts in doing so was slightly difficult, as the button had barely any leeway to be pulled from the loop, short of breaking the damn thing off. Feeling the minor but very welcome relief of his less restrained belly, Pierce watched Taylor’s eyes widen.

“Your turn,” he said. The shorter lycan did not move.

“Come on, Taylor,” a lycan behind him urged, jostling his broad shoulders – which caused a queasy look to claim Taylor’s expression, much to Pierce’s satisfaction. “No shame in giving yourself some growing room. We never made any rules about undoing the pants.”

Taylor shut his eyes and grimaced.

“I did before we started.”

The crowd went silent for two seconds before erupting with laughter. Pierce smirked, but only for a moment. He nodded to his challenger’s unfinished cookie.

“You gonna finish that?”

“Get bent, I’m workin’ on it.” He stuffed the rest into his mouth, but took longer to chew.

Pierce proceeded with his next cookie. He was glad to see his apparent advantage, but now was not the time to be complacent. Letting his stomach loose was only a short reprieve and he had at least five of these chocolate chip sons-of-bitches left. Matters certainly were not helped when he overheard a lycan say, “I’ve never seen someone explode before.”

One cookie each later, both lycans were starting to get short of breath. Both were packed so full of food that they were running out of lung space, and Pierce noticed in their eating that they had steadily leaned back in their chairs, as leaning toward the table put deeply uncomfortable pressure on their overstuffed bellies.

Christ, Pierce never had anything resembling a belly before, and he doubted Taylor had either. Still, he remained calm. He was going to fucking win.

He was a little surprised though when a smug grin formed on Taylor’s spaghetti sauce stained face.

“What’s so funny?” the taller lycan asked.

“I’m about to make more room.”

Pierce lifted an eyebrow in confusion.

“You know the rules,” he said. “No throwing up.”

Taylor’s grin turned jagged and his eyes became a familiar cobalt blue.

“Rules didn’t say shit about changing during the contest,” he replied, his voice becoming more of a growl with every word.

Others backed off as Taylor began to transform into a complete lycan. Some members of the pack murmured as to whether or not Taylor was about to have the upper hand in his larger form. Pierce remained where he sat, partly to keep his composure, partly to avoid the agony of any sudden movements. He had not expected this kind of strategy, and as he watched Taylor’s limbs lengthen and his skin turn grey, he began to doubt his chances of winning.

And then Taylor’s transformation stopped and he promptly threw up. Several disappointed lycans came to his aid as he returned to human form, continuing to puke as he all but crawled away in humiliating defeat.

Pierce took a final bite of his cookie and slammed his fist triumphantly on the table.

“And that is how you do it, motherfuckers,” he declared as the crowd’s enthusiasm reached a collective roar.

*

While money from bets was exchanged and congratulations were made, Pierce miraculously managed to slip away unseen, and his escape could not have come sooner. Had he stayed any longer, he might have puked, and he was determined not to, despite the contest having ended. He had proven himself superior in a way, and he was not about to betray his own victory, especially not in front of the others. Besides, he was not certain if he could throw up even if he wanted to. The food he had all but choked down seemed packed so tight that he could not even let loose a proper belch to relieve some of the pressure.

Trudging along the tunnels en route to his quarters, Pierce leaned against a corner of the wall to catch his breath. Gingerly, he touched his aching belly with his fingertips, as though applying any further force really would make him explode. He certainly felt like he might. Pierce looked down with regret at the drum-tight curve beneath his fingers. He looked pregnant.

And it feels like I’m about to give birth, he silently lamented as he moved forward, desperate to ignore the obstinate stabs of pain continuing to shoot through him.

He only had another two tunnels to cover before he was at his door. Once there, he could lock himself away, collapse on his bed, sleep the ordeal off, and hope he was not needed for the next two days. Taylor may have lost the damn contest, but at least he was a step or so closer to recovery than his comrade was.

Every step seemed to make the pain worse, and Pierce gritted his teeth as he struggled onward, wishing his clothes did not feel nearly so tight. Even with his trousers open the denim material all but cut into his expanded waistline, the teeth of the zip biting like real ones. Three steps later, he found himself once more leaning against the wall, trying to ignore the spasms ripping through his midsection. The discomfort got worse as he succumbed to the urge to slide down the wall, landing on his backside with an, “oof!”

“Shit,” he growled out when he realized he likely could not get back up without assistance. He  echoed the obscenity and thought he might cry. He was stuck. The unfortunate lycan wondered if he would have to remain where he was until someone took mocking pity on him. Or until he shit himself.

As he sat there, trying to configure a plan and fighting off the sluggish feeling of drowsiness, he heard footsteps. Great. He was about to be discovered after all, and he would end up just as humiliated as Taylor. Why had he agreed to that stupid fucking contest?

Pierce realized he must have blacked out from most of his energy being put toward digestion, because the time between hearing the footsteps and the sudden contact of hands tugging on his shoulders was utterly lost to him. He jolted uneasily when the figure above him pulled him up to his feet and placed his arm around a wiry set of shoulders. The person – unrecognized in the sleepy haze, but distinctly shorter – began to drag him forward, and then hesitated to speak.

“Do not throw up on me,” a very Austrian voice said tersely.

Aw, fuck.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Pierce gets help from someone he did not expect... or want, for that matter.

He was screwed, he was sure of it.

Singe was lugging him somewhere which was definitely not the lycan soldier’s quarters. Singe, the pack’s resident scientist, and Lucian’s mate. He would tell the alpha wolf about what had happened in the den. If Pierce – and Taylor for that matter – was lucky, they would be able to eat from the garbage for the next year or so. Possibly with their balls still intact.

“I would appreciate it greatly if you actually moved your feet,” Singe said, interrupting Pierce’s internalized panic. His annoyed tone softened after the other complied, but only by a bit. “If you keep moving, it will help.”

“Help what?” Pierce asked, distracted by the realization that they were headed to a familiar door which few had been permitted to enter.  
Lucian’s personal quarters.

What the hell? The only other person who had ever been beyond that door besides Lucian and Singe was Raze. And when asked about what had transpired that night, he refused to talk about it. Pierce eyed the scientist warily, dragging his feet again. Singe glanced at him sharply.

“Relax.”

“Easy for you to say,” Pierce said in a somewhat strangled voice. Suddenly being stuck in a tunnel and being laughed at was sounding like the better option.

“You’re hopeless,” the scientist simply said, entering the key code to the door and half-leading half-dragging the bigger lycan inside.

The pain of suddenly being shoved into a chair next to a table gave Pierce little time to ponder his fate, and he automatically leaned backward as he had during the eating contest to give himself what little relief he could. It was no use. He was stuck like this for the next… ten agonizing hours or so.

Singe appeared in his face, making him wince. Damn it, he was creepy. What Lucian saw in him was beyond Pierce’s understanding.

“Open your mouth,” he said. Pierce barely had the chance to ask why as the weedy little scientist pinched his nose, blocking off air supply. As his lips parted, a fizzy liquid was unceremoniously poured down his throat. He had no choice but to swallow, and Singe was off again.

Soda?

Pierce was unable to hold back a moan at the addition to his straining stomach.

“What was that for?” he asked, trying to sound threatening and angry but failing miserably. Singe seemed to ignore him, filling a tea kettle with water and putting it on a small stove.

The added bubbles of the soda made the soldier feel sick. Was this some kind of twisted method of corporal punishment? Was the hot water going to be poured down his gullet as well?

“Please,” he groaned, hands reflexively going to his belly. He felt he might vomit, burst, or do both. Singe quietly approached him, glasses glinting in the fluorescent light overhead. A hand landed on the shelf of Pierce’s belly and pressed. The bigger lycan yelped at the pain, but he was hardly able to move, let alone fight back – also, Lucian might not appreciate his pet scientist getting punched. Ignoring his “patient’s” protests, Singe only watched intently as he pressed, unmoving and unchanging until…

A belch erupted from Pierce that took him by surprise, and goddamn, did it feel incredible.

“Hm,” was only what the lycan scientist said, giving a near imperceptible nod as he pulled his hand away and returned to the stove where the kettle was still brewing. Pierce returned his own hand to his belly, still curved and overstuffed, but a little less so.

Singe left him alone for a few minutes, standing by the stove. In his hands were a notepad and pencil, and he was scribbling down something very important, judging by the lines on his brow.

Did this guy ever stop working?

A quick scan of the living space suggested otherwise. Pierce noticed the walls were lined with shelves, and in turn the shelves were filled end to end with books. Some looked quite worn and old. He had a feeling most of them did not belong to Lucian… although the pack leader was pretty damn smart.

In the end, the room was rather unremarkable, possibly even smaller than Pierce’s own living situation. Most members of the pack had their own rooms, and if they were lucky, like Pierce or Raze, even had their own sink and toilet. As the thought occurred to him, the soldier happened to notice the absence of a bed. Beyond where Singe stood were two doors, one of which was open to reveal a bathroom, and the other shut, though it most certainly had to be –

A whistle penetrated the silence and Singe promptly lifted the kettle and poured its piping hot contents into a mug. Adding a teabag, he handed it to Pierce with a paper towel.

“Allow it to steep for a little while.”

Pierce stared at him. “Huh?”

Singe rolled his eyes. “Let the teabag do its work.”

“Oh.” At least being around the scientist gave the bigger lycan new words to learn every once in a while. If not for Singe, he would still not know what the word monotony meant.

Shit, he used to remember what that word meant. Perhaps he should have acted a little less bored at the time of the explanation…

As Singe poured himself some tea, Pierce curiously sniffed at his own.

“Peppermint?” he wondered aloud.

“For stomach aches,” the smaller lycan explained. His back was turned toward Pierce, hence his movements were hard to see. A third cup of tea maybe? How many was the soldier expected to drink?

“Is this done ‘steeping’?” he asked, lifting the teabag.

Singe turned toward him. “Yes, that should do. Small sips, if you don’t mind. Gulping it down would be counterproductive.”

A new word.

Pierce grimaced as he drank. He had never cared much for tea, and consuming it when he never wanted to look at food or drink again was not improving his opinion of it. He could not hold back the moan that escaped as he swallowed. Eyes shut, he listened as Singe approached. The taller lycan looked up to see a hot water bottle in his host’s hands. Immediately he lifted his arms and welcomed it against the tight surface of his stomach. The groan which escaped this time was one of eager relief. By this point, any sources of comfort were near-orgasmic.

Pulling forth another chair from the table, Singe sat down and joined his patient in drinking tea, occasionally jotting something else down in his notepad between sips. Pierce somewhat guardedly continued drinking from his own mug, careful not to take too much at once, as instructed, and focused on the welcome heat against his belly. Still, he could not shake a stubborn question from his brain.

"Why are you helping me?" he asked, unable to stifle the belch that followed. Singe did not look away from his notes, and at first Pierce doubted he would be answered.

"My opinion of how the pack spends it time notwithstanding, it is still an imperative to keep Lucian's best soldiers alive and well." He took a sip of his tea. "No matter how idiotic their behavior."

"Gee, I'm honored," Pierce replied, sarcasm about as heavy as his host's accent. His breath hitched as his stomach reminded him that his recent behavior had indeed been moronic. He managed another belch and sipped some more tea, deciding the concoction was not terrible.

"I guess Lucian's going to find out about this," he muttered.

"I won't say anything if you won't."

Pierce processed what he had just heard and, deciding he actually was in the clear, leaned back and allowed himself to relax. The creepy old bastard wasn't so bad after all. He opened one eye and looked in Singe’s direction.

“Thanks,” he finally muttered.


End file.
